


Iron Dreams

by cactipresident



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, I have no shame, King Petyr, Realization, creppyshipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 13:01:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4747391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cactipresident/pseuds/cactipresident
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He finally got everything he ever wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Iron Dreams

He never saw anything so beautiful.

There was a price as there always would be, but the blood fell from his hands never actually staining him. Instead it fell to those he had chosen. Cersai stood little chance of evading the drops, Tommen unfortunate collateral , but the Dragon Queen was the one he held directly below his guiltless hands.

It was easy to blame everything on a Targaryen. The people of Westeros never forgetting the Mad King and his tyrannical rule. The Lannister bastards being almost as bad at ruling as Aerys it was almost child play throwing them from his rightful seat.

The Iron Throne was his alone.

“All Hail King Petyr Baelish!” Called a voice from the faceless crowd in front of him.

“ Savior of the Seven Realms! Slayer of Dragons! Lover of Kings Landing!...”

Petyr knew the voice continued over praising him something he wished for all his life, his face in a permanent smirk at the mere thought of what he did to deserve such titles, but the flash of red before him drew his attention away from something that he literally killed for. Again he saw a flash from the corner of his eyes, a spark of red against white among a crowd he could care less for. He pushed forward in his Throne, his attention piqued and his guard up.

He realised the voice had stopped when his loving citizens kneeled before him. All but one.

In the back of the long hall stood a single woman, her hands clasped together in front of her and a veil in front of her face obscuring any distinguishing features. All except her Tully red hair peeking out from below it and cascading down her shoulders. The shroud was a dark grey while the woman's dress was of a green shade with little designs on the equally grey corset. His house colors. 

Storm grey eyes grew wide as the woman began a slow walk towards him. The crowd of onlookers moved for her,parting briefly before filling back behind her. The very walk drew sparks of recognition from him. His chest tightened and his smirk grew into the widest grin he ever sported.

His Catelyn had finally come to him

He rose from his Throne of a thousand swords slowly as the woman walked towards him. Gracefully he walked down the few steps in front of him as if in a trance his doublet flowing behind him. His love drew closer to him ands it took every fiber of his being to not run to her. He still had to show the same level of control and mask as he did when he was merely Master of Coin.

The King's guard moved forward as well to protect their newest member but he waved them off not wanting them to get in the middle of such an important affair.

They met before the crowd started in front of his rightfully earned throne.The two circled each other carefully, each in their own game against the other. Something spoke in Petyr’s mind telling him there was no way this could be his Cat but for the first time since he gained his mutilation he refused to listen to his brain instead with his heart.

Littlefinger took a step towards his veiled love, he could see her draw in a breath spurring him forward the few more steps till they were almost touching. They both seemed to avoiding direct touch at the very fear they would be burned. Gently he reached forward clasping the edge of the cloth veil. With a deep breath of his own and a flick of his wrist, the shroud fell to the floor revealing what he was waiting for.

All air seemed to escape him coming out in a whispered ,” Sansa…”

Before him the very picture of beauty and love was one Sansa Stark. The daughter of the man he despised with the very core of his being and the woman he once loved

She smiled her shy smile back, his pale cheeks filling with a rosy undertone at the mention of her name. She looked him the eyes, her pale blue meeting his grey-grey with no trace of trickery. His knowing eyes searched her own for some falsity as he was custom at finding but found her nothing but open honesty. He nearly stumbled back from the shock a finding such a thing directed in his direction. Looking closer at her he noticed briefly a mockingbird pinned onto his dress keeping the top together.

His eyes whipped from her dress to her eyes within a second. She gave another smile this one a bit more sly versus shy as she lowered onto her knees in front of him. Her face was turned towards the floor but he knew she still carried the same smile.

“ My Grace,” She began. Petyr knew she had more to say but refused to hear it. With more strength then he knew he possessed he pulled her from the floor into his arms. He felt more than heard a gasp come from her. She pulled slightly away from him if only to see his face. She only managed to move face to face to him, their noses almost touching.

“My sweetling,” He whispered to her cheek, trying to get to her ear but also not wanting to get too far away from her lips. She a sharp inhale of her lemon scent he captured her lips with his own. After a few seconds he pulled away from her whispering one more time.

“My Queen”

___________________

Petyr sat up with a start his soft sheet falling from his bare chest into his lap. Sucking in a few needed breaths his brain finally caught up to where he was,who he was and what had just happened.

The Vale, he was still in the Vale but now he lay alone instead of with the half crazed sister of Cat. He was Petyr Baelish , Lord of Harrenhal not King of the seven realms. And he just dreamt that Sansa was his queen.

Sansa. Sansa Stark. Sansa Stark, Key to the North and merely a pawn in his bigger schemes. A pawn he could move with kisses and words of trust and love. Sansa Stark that he didn’t love. Sansa Stark who he guarded with his life. Sansa stark whose smile he coveted more than anything when he earned one. Sansa who was more beautiful than anything he ever saw, even the Iron throne.

With a groan in the empty room, the only place he could drop his littlefinger mask, he threw his head into his hands. He was long gone. His heart was stolen and he hadn’t even saw the thief till she was dangling it over his head like a noose.

How much easier it would be if she had looked and acted like Ned.


End file.
